


The Yellow Violet's Modest Bell

by the_rck



Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: Always Female King Arthur, F/F, First Kiss, Hope, Marriage of Convenience, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_rck/pseuds/the_rck
Summary: The High King proposed to Guinevere both for the political alliance and in the hope that one of the children from Guinevere's first marriage might grow to be a competent heir. Arthya had no intention of bearing children herself, so stepchildren would be convenient.
Relationships: Guinevere/Arthur Pendragon
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22
Collections: Writing Rainbow Yellow





	The Yellow Violet's Modest Bell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scytale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scytale/gifts).



> I'm handwaving wildly to say that f/f marriage isn't that big a deal in this setting. Please accept that bit because everything else becomes precarious without it.
> 
> Title from William Cullen Bryant's "The Yellow Violet."

Arthya removed her helmet and exchanged it for a cloth her squire offered. Arthya wiped sweat from her face and neck then waited while her squire started unfastening the more difficult to reach buckles. Arthya wished she could have worn armor that she could don and remove herself, but she was King. Her attire today had needed to speak of wealth. Capability as a warrior was no longer show enough.

And this armor held enchantments. Merlin promised that even the joins would turn arrows. Assassination attempts were as common as more public challenges to Arthya's right to rule, so that was an additional compelling argument for wearing this armor when out in public.

No one had shot at her during this tourney nor at the one before, but it had happened. It likely would again. Arthya ruled by force of arms, and the line of succession after her was murky. She had a half-sister, on her mother's side, and nephews in Orkney. She might well have unacknowledged half-siblings on her father's side.

The state she and Merlin had built was fragile. If Arthya died too soon, it would not last the weeks required to summon anyone from Orkney, and Arthya wasn't sure any of her kin there, save Lot himself, was capable of managing a kingdom. She had offered to foster Morgause and Lot's younger boys, but nothing had come of it yet.

Possibly nothing might ever come of it. Morgause was not fond of Arthya, and Lot considered Arthya too young and too female to be King of anything at all. He wasn't willing to risk having a son killed when Arthya inevitably fell. 

Arthya was, therefore, eying possibilities closer to home.

Merlin didn't like any of them. Merlin thought Arthya should bear children. Merlin thought that bloodlines mattered.

Arthya thought that a child of her body would be no less likely to grow up to rebel and try to become King early than some randomly chosen child would, and she knew that the father of any child of hers would be an ongoing risk to the stability of Arthya's throne.

Besides, men weren't very appealing in general.

Guinevere, daughter of King Leodegrance, had been a widow for three years now. Arthya knew that she'd had offers of marriage from many men who wanted an alliance with her father, but Guinevere had never consented, and her father hadn't pushed. She'd born three children, two still living, and the third had come close enough to killing her that she'd sworn not to risk it again.

If she married Arthya, there wouldn't be much risk of pregnancy. Arthya could adopt her children and make one of them the next High King. Leodegrance had enough power to protect Guinevere and her children if Arthya died young. Leodegrance was respected enough by the other kings that there might not even be war over it.

All in a neat package.

Arthya sighed as her squire helped her remove the last of her armor. She sat on a stool and let her muscles recover from bearing the weight. "Wine," she told her squire, "and water. I'll mix it myself."

"Food, also, your Majesty?"

"Yes." Arthya knew she sounded a bit testy. "Just make it something that can sit for a little. No need for you to make the trip twice." Experience told her that it would be at least another half an hour before eating became appealing. She could eat sooner, but why force it?

****

Guinevere rose from her loom and stretched. Had she had masculine company, she wouldn't have dared, but she was alone with her ladies. Standing occasionally and moving was kinder to the body and made long hours of work easier.

A few minutes later, as she prepared to take up the shuttle again, there came a rap on the door. Guinevere felt her shoulders tighten.

"Daughter." The voice through the door was her father's.

Guinevere relaxed a little. She nodded to her ladies then turned to open the door.

Her father was alone. He didn't look upset or even concerned, merely pensive. His smile seemed genuine enough. He offered her his arm. "Walk with me."

She nodded and took his arm. 

He didn't say anything until they'd left the castle and crossed the kitchen garden. At that point, he patted her hand and said, "You needn't if you don't with to, but I've-- _you've_ \-- had an offer that I think is worth considering."

Guinevere stepped away from her father. "No." She clenched her hands at her sides. "You know why not."

"It's not that sort of offer," her father said. "The High King, King Arthur-- I don't think you've met her, but you've seen her, yes?"

Guinevere nodded. She had the sense that this was an important, even pivotal, moment in her life.

"She wants heirs," her father said. "She says she'll wed you and have your two as her own." For a moment, he didn't seem to be seeing the rows of cabbages. "It's not a bad plan on her part. If I fall, she protects you. If she falls, I protect you. If both of us fall--" He cleared his throat as if the words had gotten stuck there.

"That was never going to end well for us anyway," she said for him. She fidgeted as she tried to make herself think through the implications and motives.

"It's a solution to her problems and to yours." He sighed. "Some women can ride to war even to the day of birth. Some women can't. No way to know until it happens."

"And the King has to be able to fight." Guinevere couldn't make it a question because it was too obviously true.

"If you're already wed, the pressure to marry ends." He met her eyes. "You can say no. I'll back you. I just..." He looked a little worried and a little hopeful. He hadn't really known what to do with her and her children since she came home.

Guinevere was his only child. Her husband was supposed to live and be strong enough to hold her lands for her son.

Once she considered that, the answer became obvious. She bowed her head and said, "Please tell the King that I'd be honored."

****

The betrothal became a wedding more quickly than Guinevere expected. The King was impatient to have it done and concerned that delay might give her enemies too much opportunity to disrupt the proceedings. Three weeks after Guinevere said yes, she and her children were settling into rooms in the High King's castle.

The first night, Guinevere found herself sharing a rather barren bedroom with the King. She hadn't expected that, and the King-- Arthya. She'd said that Guinevere must call her Arthya-- had apologized, saying that there were still many who disapproved of the marriage. "Separate beds so soon might be seen as a weakness between us, one that can be exploited," she explained.

Guinevere nodded understanding of the political point. She sat on the only chair and clasped her hands in her lap. She looked at Arthya. "For kings, even in peace, there is battle and skirmish and ambush for, and we are not at peace." Still, it would be easier if more of her things were in this room as opposed to in the other room set aside for her use. "But tomorrow, we should move--" She turned her head to look at the walls and corners of the room. "There's room for my clothing and jewelry box and such."

Arthya smiled in a way that was more open and true than any smile she'd offered earlier in the day. "I didn't think," she said. "I haven't been around other women much."

Guinevere found the smile almost dazzling. She could see why so many people chose to support Arthya. There was something sincere and worthy of trust that shone through everything else. She tried to return the smile with as much honesty and humor as she could muster. "It will be better in the winter, too. One alone sleeps cold."

Arthya looked startled. "I hadn't thought--" She shook her head. "You accepted an alliance. Keeping me warm isn't required."

Guinevere started letting down her hair. "We may find we don't get on in close quarters. That happens, sometimes, but I hadn't expected we wouldn't at least try." If they didn't, she'd manage, but it would be lonely. She looked around for somewhere to set down her hairpins.

Arthya held out her hand. "Give those here. I didn't think about hairpins since I never--" Her other hand touched her close cropped hair. "Long hair in a helmet is risky. I mean, I know it's been done, but..." She shrugged.

Guinevere let Arthya take the pins. "If there's nowhere to put them, you holding them is no less awkward than me doing it. Just put them next to the basin and pitcher."

"I thought my saddlebags might be better. That way they won't roll away."

Guinevere considered that then nodded. "You don't stay here much." She supposed that made sense given that Arthya was still defending her throne against would-be usurpers.

Arthya looked over her shoulder at Guinevere and seemed surprised. "Well, no, but I don't think the room would look much different if I did."

"Perhaps more than one chair?" Guinevere wondered if it was that Arthya preferred simplicity or if she needed to avoid anything too feminine or if she hadn't ever had an opportunity to please herself. Guinevere was sure that the room was the best in the building, but all that told her was that no one had bothered to do much to guarantee comfort for Arthya.

Arthya laughed. "Usually, I'm the only one who sits. Anyone who can manage the stairs can stand."

"Should I not be--?"

Arthya waved a dismissive hand. "We're married. That would be silly."

"Arthya," Guinevere hesitated. "I'm not clear-- What _do_ you expect of me?"

Arthya turned to face Guinevere. "Public solidarity. Overseeing the household. Letting me know when your oldest is ready to start training as my heir. Anything else would be... I don't want to make things unpleasant." Her expression looked little tight, and Guinevere suspected that Arthya was hiding uncertainty.

Guinevere wanted to shake her head, but she feared Arthya would take it the wrong way. "You could," she said. "So could I. I don't think either of us intend it." She stood and crossed the room to Arthya, offering her hand. When Arthya took it, Guinevere tugged to pull her closer. "I expected a marriage," Guinevere said. "That means--" She leaned in and kissed Arthya.

Arthya made a surprised sound as their lips met but, after a few seconds, returned the kiss with enthusiasm.


End file.
